Page 14 of Serena
“Aren’t you a gentleman? My, how good of you, Mr. Kayde.”
I don’t miss the condescending tone in her voice. So I don’t try to correct her.
“Well, Ms. Nerva, whoever told you that has been lying to you. I am anything but a gentleman.” This seems to piss her off even more.
She doesn’t say a word as we exit the elevator. When we get to her front door, she takes out her keys and unlocks it. Then turns her whole body to face me in challenge. We don’t speak, both still annoyed with one another. I inch closer to her. I pullan object out of my pocket and begin to slide it up her body, caressing the curves of her hips, the softness of her stomach, gliding up between her breasts and up her neck until it’s in front of her. A pocketknife. I flip it open, showcasing the sharp steel blade. Tracing her collarbone with the tip of the blade, then sliding it under the shoulder strap of her top. With one swift move, the fabric slices, her features unwavering. I secure the knife and put it in her hands.
“Always carry this with you.” Then I bend down and whisper, “You will not be fucking anyone but me. If anyone, and I mean anyone, touches you, I will kill them. Now get inside your fucking apartment.” She does as she’s told. I hear the locks click, and I walk away. I need to blow off some steam.
I’m lying in bed replaying tonight's events. Getting ready with my friends, dancing, and drinking, which I didn’t do much of. I’ve become such a lightweight that after three drinks, I was done. What stands out is the car ride with Ian Kayde. I admit, I call him Mr. Kayde to annoy him. There is something about him that makes me want to push his buttons. I haven’t known him for long, but he can provoke me just as easily.
When he helped me out of the SUV and I all but fell onto him, I didn’t know how to respond. The way he held me, his grip, his stare. I was pretty annoyed with everyone when they insisted that I get into his car, but even I knew he was the safer option. When he buckled me and grazed my body, god, I can still feel his touch on my waist, the way his chest felt on mine—everything. I honestly don’t know what got into me. I would blame the alcohol, but I wasn’t that drunk. I’m just clumsy. Our conversation was going well; it was so easy to talk to him, untilhe pulled that bullshit about Elias. That came out of nowhere. Did Elias say something to Ian?
That’s what pisses me off, and I still can’t let it go. I have a temper, so I said what I said. I didn’t expect him to follow me inside the building, and when he did, I honestly didn’t know how to respond. Then he opened his mouth, and I just wanted to kick him in the balls. I couldn’t get out of the elevator fast enough, but again, he caught up to me outside my apartment. The way he caressed me without laying a finger on my body. I was glad that I wore the black shorts. I’m pretty sure I soaked through my panties. I will blame my nonexistent sex life. It’s been weeks since I’ve had any sex. Sure, I have toys, but the real thing can be fun too.
I don’t like knives. My kitchen has a handful of them, but they are small and not very sharp. I’m scared of hurting myself with them, so the fact that one caressed my body and I didn’t have a meltdown, well, I don’t know what to do with that. I am pissed that he tore one of my favorite tops.Asshole. His threat is on replay. Would he actually hurt someone? The way he ordered me around both infuriated me and turned me on. I’d rather not think about it too much, so I do what I always do: bury the thoughts.
The cold shower I just took did nothing. Lying in bed and spiraling is becoming too much, and the ache between my legs isn’t helping. Maybe I should get another casual fuck buddy. I can try dating apps again. I didn’t have much luck last time, but maybe things will have changed.
I look over at my nightstand and pick up the knife. It’s a couple of inches long, with a grey metal handle, which makes it perfect to carry in my purse. The only problem is that I don’t know how to use it.
I think back to when he led me to his car, the possessiveness in the way he held my arm, and his hand on my lower back.I noticed the way he looked at what I was wearing. At first, I thought it was judgment, but no, it was more. I’ve never been self-conscious about the shape of my body, just the scars that mark it.
Moving my hand to my pussy, I feel how soaked I am again for the second time tonight. So I pull off my shirt and shorts. My lace underwear is all I’m wearing. It’s the lace on my body that will help with the friction I’m aching for. I contemplate if I should, maybe… I grab the secured weapon, and taking a deep breath, I place it flat on my stomach. I start to glide the cool metal over my skin upward to my breasts. I pretend it’s his hands on the metal, grazing it on my body, and I let out a moan. Reminding myself that I have control over this situation, I breathe through it. It’s surprising to me how much I'm enjoying this. The hand that was on my pussy moves up to my breast. Taking a nipple between my fingers, I pinch it…hard. Then I move on to my other breast and do the same. I need to feel the pain. “Ohhh…mmyyy.” I move the knife down my stomach until it's right above my pussy entrance. Why does this feel so good?
The knife brushing against my skin makes me wetter. I need something inside me. I rub my pussy through the fabric; the lace is providing the friction I need, but I want more. I pull off my underwear. I’m so needy that I place two fingers at the entrance of my pussy. In one move, I push them inside. I’m soaked, but I need more. I fuck myself, hard. I toss the small weapon to the side and use my other hand. Rubbing circles on my clit. I’m so close… I rub harder and thrust my fingers as deep as I can. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Then I come…hard. I don’t move, needing to catch my breath. This is what I needed. All of tonight's tension is gone.
Did I just do that? With a knife? As far as sex is concerned, I've always liked it rough, and my fantasies aren’t what you consider vanilla, but it was hard to find someone who would do those things with me and to me. How do you ask a one-nightstand to choke you? To fuck you so hard you will ache for days? There wasn’t anyone I trusted enough to share that part of me. I put the knife onto my nightstand and finally fall asleep.
Usually, Sundays are for brunch, but we decided to take a break this week and recover from last night. I spend the majority of my day cleaning my apartment and preparing for my upcoming work trip. Now, I’m on my couch with a glass of wine, catching up on my favorite crime show. Earlier today, I went onto YouTube and watched videos about how to use the knife. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to keep it. The blade isn’t big; it’s small enough that I feel comfortable holding it, but not big enough to send me into a panic. I move my hand to my inner thigh and stop myself. Just the idea of touching that area makes me sick to my stomach. A wave of shame and nausea overcomes me. Even during sex, it’s been a boundary that I set. I can’t help the tears that slide down my cheek. I feel so stupid every time I have this reaction. Why can’t the past just stay there?
Coming to work,I feel off, not only because I slept like shit, but because I have to see Ian. That makes me a bit uneasy. I’ve known this man for weeks, and I can count on my hand the number of interactions we’ve had, so feeling this way is throwing me off. Plus, he infuriates me. I've never met anyone who can get under my skin as quickly as he does. He pushes me without even knowing it.
The knife is burning a hole in my purse. I considered keeping it but threw that idea out the window this morning. I need to give it back, set boundaries, and go back to our routine where he’s locked up in his office, and I’m in mine. I head toward his office, which sits on the opposite side to mine. As I approach hisassistant's desk, I hear her before I see her. “Tell him his fiancée is here to see him.”
“Fiancée?” I whisper to myself. There in front of Selma is a slender woman. She’s tall, with long black hair. Dressed in a tight, red, backless dress. Her skin is flawless. She’s the woman who walks into a room and everyone admires. A woman who belongs in the arms of Ian Kayde. The picture of a perfect couple.
“Mr. Kayde should be expecting me.” She says it loud enough for everyone around to hear.
“Like I said, Mr. Kayde is in a meeting, and he asked not to be disturbed,” Selma responds in her assertive but professional manner.
“Well, tell Mr. Kayde that if he doesn’t come out willingly, I’ll cause a scene and force him out,” the woman threatens.
Selma doesn’t get the chance to respond when the door opens. “Mila, what the hell are you doing here?” he asks in a tone that could freeze Antarctica. He looks around to see who’s watching the spectacle, his eyes landing on mine, and I want to look away, but I can’t. He stands there for what seems like minutes, not breaking eye contact. He then turns to look at the woman in front of him: Mila, his fiancée. He motions for her to enter his office and slams the door shut. I spin around and head back to my office.
He has a fiancée; he’s engaged. Replaying the scene that just took place outside his office, I recall it all. His warning, his caress, the car ride, but it wasn’t real. It's just a game with one person playing, and I’ll have no part in it. God, I feel so stupid. Someone made a fool of me, and I let them, again. Estúpida.
It’s lunchtime, and I’m still reeling, so I pull out the pocketknife and make my way back to his office. There aren’t many people around. I’m a professional, so I knock. “Come in,” he invites. I walk in with my mask of indifference.
“Hello, Mr. Kayde.” I smile, mostly because I think I saw his eye twitch at the sound of his name in such a formal manner, but again, we’re at work.
“Serena, how are you today? Please come in and take a seat. Do we have a meeting scheduled, or did you just miss me?”
He is such an asshole.
He’s sitting there as if his fiancée didn’t just cause a scene. I roll my eyes. God, he’s insufferable; men are insufferable.
“We don’t have a meeting, and there is nothing to miss. I just wanted to return this.” I pull the small knife from my pocket and walk over to his desk, placing it in front of him. He stares at it, stands up, and closes the space between us. He’s so close, too close. His smell invades my senses, the scent of leather and whisky. It takes me back to a couple of nights ago. I have to retreat a step, and he takes one forward. I take another, and he follows. This is nothing but a game to him.
